Under A Rest Pt. 04

This incongruous pang startled him. He supposed it was the bittersweetness inherent to the gifts she'd given him: real warmth, affection, and care so late in an adulthood that had proved very rewarding but largely lonesome. A doorstep on which he could abandon all his woes, a way to empty his head and not keep himself up all night fretting, waking up in cold sweats plagued by faces of the dead. Someone to make sure he was well-fed, well-watered, well-cared for when ill--which, admittedly, had become less often as his body grew healthier with newfound habits.

Truthfully, he hadn't felt better in years. His job remained tough, and he remained stubborn, but he was beginning to change, even thrive, and on some evenings even came home both at a reasonable time and with energy to spare. His moods were sometimes so much brighter than his usual baseline of tired terseness that he elicited raised eyebrows from his associates. Always a dominant force in his division, his performance had improved to such a degree that he was being considered for a raise. And though that mystifying Walter case around which he never could quite wrap his head bothered him at first, it was really beginning to grow alright with him. It all felt so far away now, anyway, and after all, a case was destined to go cold every now and again. Nobody could succeed all the time. He had so many other things to work on. More important things. So many more important things...

But all he had to do now was sit in the rising, steaming water, and dissolve like a little sugar cube in hot, hazy tea, in this hot, hazy space.

He'd grown rather accustomed to that space. His eyes blinked open and gazed right up at her, who, kneeling above him, now lathered his hairy body with musk-scented soap. She gave him a kind smile. Shyly, he returned it.

He'd grown rather accustomed to her face too, he supposed, wondering as of late why every time he looked straight into her eyes his heart swelled several sizes. Perhaps it was sheer awe, admiration, respect for her ability and talent. It was most certainly that. It had to be.

Anything further frightened him too much to contemplate.

A dollop of fragrant tea tree oil shampoo she lathered into his wet, tangled hair, her fingertips scrubbing, massaging, washing his tired brain, his train of thought once again disintegrating wet newspaper as he sank deeper into the sudsy water.

"Not so fast. I'm not done with you, yet."

"never are," he murmured. She laughed.

"That's right."

That laugh. She was heaven, utter heaven. Just being around her, hearing the sound of her voice. Her quips, her gait, her scent. It was odd, then, that a knot had begun to form in his stomach, that his eyes had begun to sting, that his chest had begun to tighten.

"Hey, hey...relax...rest...there, there," Doctor Angelos said gently, sensing his tension, her hands caressing his ears and eliciting from him a quiet moan. Like magic, the feeling of discontent diminished as soon as it came, replaced with bubbly, lightheaded warmth. The detective blinked heavily, exhaling as he felt a blush rising to his face. Feeling faint, he wondered whether it was from the high heat of the water, or the collar around his neck, or the woman behind him, humming charming, soothing little tunes, murmuring things to him as she often did, things he couldn't quite make out but would certainly still absorb in his subconscious. He leaned his head back into her hands and closed his eyes while she rinsed his hair with the handheld shower head. His skin tingled, any remnants of his discontent rinsing away with the shampoo from his scalp as he embraced the clean, serene blankness that now encompassed his consciousness.

She worked a buttery conditioner into his locks as intoxicating swirls of heady aromas drew him down, melting him as his heart slowed, his shallow breaths becoming deeper, more even, relaxed to the point where they were barely there. His limbs laid suspended in cushions of hot, soapy water, clouds of bubbles surrounding him, protecting him from the outside world. His thoughts began to unravel, growing slower, softer, and more strange, waxing abstract. His grip on the physical dimension weakened as he felt the realm of dreams entreating him, tugging his eyelids closed. He fought its pull, struggling desperately to savor this sublimity just a little while longer.

Alas, his waning strength gave way and into a wilting sleep he was pulled, head adroop, long lashes fluttering and coming to a rest against his flushed cheeks as sweet release pulsed through him. She smiled, noticing his surrender and gently drawing his head towards the towel draped on the side of the tub, continuing to run her fingertips along his scalp as he drifted inwards. Before long, even her hands, his last tethers to reality, faded away into dreams.

He shivered suddenly, prying his bleary eyes open. He still sat in the tub, but a large, fluffy, yellow towel now draped around him, a smaller one delicately drying his hair. The aromas from earlier still hung in the air, now much cooler with the hot water drained. She helped him out of the tub and onto the plush bath mat, continuing to dry him. His arousal was obvious, but she paid it with no more mind than a knowing smile.

The detective thought that he ought to insist this courtesy was unnecessary, he could dry himself off just fine, and exactly how long was he in that bath, anyway? But he felt her hand on his cheek, and his mind was sapped, lips parted, words caught in his throat.

"Wonderful. Time to eat?"

He gave a small, half-lidded smile and a hum of affirmation.

"That's a good boy. Enough thought for tonight."

He nodded slowly. Enough thought for tonight.